


Tabula Rasa

by misguidedmalfoy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy & Harry Potter Friendship, Draco Malfoy has Heterochromia, Friendship, Harry Hates Public Events, Healer Draco Malfoy, Heterochromia, Latin, M/M, Minor Original Character(s), Muggle Culture, Original Character(s), POV Harry Potter, Post-War, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, St Mungo's Hospital, Tabula Rasa, but future drarry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:35:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24448204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misguidedmalfoy/pseuds/misguidedmalfoy
Summary: Harry Potter absolutely hates attending public events where he inevitably becomes the center of attention; oddly enough, Draco Malfoy seems to make one event just a little bit better.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 6
Kudos: 163





	Tabula Rasa

**Author's Note:**

> instead of publishing one of the 5 current projects i have, i wrote this at four in the morning and decided to publish it. support my procrastination with kudos!

_ “350th Anniversary of St. Mungos: A Commemoration of Past and Future”  _

Harry Potter stood at the entrance of the ballroom. 

It was a Tuesday evening, he’d already been hounded by the media, and he was completely and painfully sober. 

Needless to say, he wasn’t exactly looking forward to walking into a room full of people who wanted his opinion on everything from the weather to their latest Diagon Alley purchase. He’d gotten used to handling most questions with surface level, polite responses, but tonight he felt he’d struggle with maintaining the usual positivity. Work had dragged on far too long, and he wished nothing more than to go home to his apartment and go to sleep. 

But here he was nonetheless, standing in the doorway with dread filling every part of his being. 

His eyes fell on the table in the corner offering bottomless champagne, and it was the only thing that led him to finally walk into the event. 

The room was filled with witches and wizards, many of which he recognized from the multiple other charity events he found himself unwillingly attending. Aminata Requis, a herbologist who often hosted events for St. Mungos. Retha Vizernon, a witch who had no significant profession other than to interact with society; she reminded Harry of Horace Slugorn and he often wondered if he should introduce them. Archurius Owery, a Ministry employee who seemed to represent the good wishes of the Minister who could rarely attend every event. Harry had become just as regular as all of them at these events, and it filled him with a dread induced nausea. 

Harry waved a casual hello as he passed each familiar face, making sure to keep his expression visibly searching so he wasn’t stopped in his path to nowhere but the champagne table. 

He picked up a glass and skirted the edges of the room, trying to avoid small talk. It came easier on some nights than others, and tonight he felt as though he had a block on his social abilities. 

His eyes swept the room as he sipped the drink in his hand. Along with duplicates of the banner seen in the doorway, there were a significant number of signs and banners that spoke of a new ward. 

“ _ St. Mungos’ Cygnus Ward: Centre for Mind Healing _ ”

Mind Healing wasn’t unfamiliar to Harry. He’d seen a few mind healers in the first year or two out from the war, mostly on Hermione’s suggestion, but they’d been mostly freelance and unestablished. It had been an early juxtaposition of the Muggle world and its mental health practices and the use of magic to calm the mind; promising, but at the time, mostly unhelpful due to its mostly niche background in special cases. As it turned out, mental health had been quite a small priority in the Wizarding World, but a new generation of war survivors had changed that. 

And now, Harry stood at a benefit for a new floor at St. Mungos. He wondered how long it would be before Hermione offered up a contact she knew with a lecture on the, “apparent benefits according to recent academic articles.” Maybe he’d take her advice again. He was twenty two now, perhaps his age will have changed his perspective. 

He took a deep breath, and finished off his champagne glass in one sip. Being tipsy might make the night just a little bit easier. 

A voice to his left stirred him out of his thoughts with a start. 

“How has the famous Harry Potter managed to evade being the center of conversation?”

Harry was glad he’d recently emptied his glass, because otherwise, he’d have spilled it down his dress shirt. 

He began to jump to his own defense, “I’m not here to be the center of attention, I—“ but quickly realized that he knew the voice at his shoulder.

On his left, wearing an amused expression, stood Draco Malfoy. There was no smirk on his face, no air of superiority, and Harry was briefly stunned by how Draco’s sharp features didn’t seem as cold as they always had before. 

Harry might go as far to say that without the blonde hair, Draco may not be recognizable as a Malfoy. At least, not a normal one. 

“Malfoy,” he said, and Draco held out a hand with a twitch at the corner of his mouth. There was the sarcasm Harry was so familiar with, the slightest bit of snark that made Draco become  _ Malfoy.  _

“Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Harry Potter,” Draco said, and Harry looked from Draco’s face to his outstretched hand. 

Harry was reminded of an interaction between the two of them that had occurred nearly 11 years previous. He couldn’t resist saying his next words wearing his own smirk. 

“I think I can tell the wrong sort for myself, thanks.”

Out of all the responses to his sarcasm Harry had expected (a punch, a duel, getting doused in champagne), he hadn’t imagined Draco laughing. But here Draco was in front of him, genuinely laughing at his response. Was he drunk? Harry couldn't think of another explanation for such a strangely genuine and friendly reaction. 

“Mm, I suppose you were right,” said Draco, lifting his own glass and taking a sip. 

Harry began to notice that Draco wasn’t wearing traditional dress robes, nor was he wearing the muggle-wizard combination attire that had recently become popular. His robes were green, and it became abundantly clear that they were St. Mungos green. 

In true Harry fashion, Harry blurted out the words before he could really consider what he was saying. 

“You’re a healer?” He said incredulously, mentally scolding himself for not noticing the obvious attire the moment Draco approached. 

Draco smirked and turned his gaze to the crowd before speaking. “I am, yes, and you can see by the frequent dirty looks that the public is incredibly pleased with my career choice,” He said, and Harry noticed the slightest change in his tone of voice. It sounded as if he’d wavered, even if just for a split second, but Draco had quickly played it off by taking a drink. 

Harry glanced at the crowd, and noticed that there had been a very pointed dirty look in his and Draco’s direction. Draco had seen it too. 

“I believe her name is Amelia,” Draco said, looking back over to Harry, “she works with me. My coworkers don’t exactly enjoy the way my name has become quite popular in the new ward.” 

_ St. Mungo’s new Cygnus ward… _

Harry turned to Draco, who’d begun to sip his champagne with the same fervor Harry had just before they began conversation. 

“Cygnus is a star, right?” Harry asked, and Draco nodded. “A constellation, but yes. So is Draco, but I thought perhaps my first name would deter patients from attending,” Draco said. “I helped establish it and contributed part of the remainder of the family fortune that wasn’t taken by the Ministry for war reparations.” 

The Draco Malfoy Harry knew would never have done something so generous. He was briefly at a loss for words as he processed this new character development in front of him. 

During their conversation Harry had begun to notice that Draco seemed to be affected by his public image more than he let on. The champagne he was continuing to drink spoke for itself. Draco had noticed Harry’s attention to his drink, and began to jump to his own defense. 

“You’ll have to forgive me for being so unprofessional, but I assumed we were past a professional basis,” Draco added, and Harry shrugged. He knew he was in the same position, and in his regret for his scrutinizing stare, he said, “I’m not exactly putting on my best face tonight either.” He could imagine the tabloids if they saw him now:  **“Potter Loses Touch With The Public: Also Is Alcoholic.”**

Yet somehow, talking to Draco Malfoy and a bad headline was preferable to the usual social rounds. 

“I’m not sure how you do it, being the golden boy or whatever they like to call you. I strongly dislike formal interactions with the general public on a good day,” Draco said, his tone of disgust painfully evident. The frown on his face only added to his words. 

Harry sighed. How did he do it? Well, it had become somewhat simple: he didn’t think much of it anymore. It had been much worse when he was eighteen and overridden with grief. Now it was just commonplace, just another everyday annoyance. 

“It’s annoying at most. It was worse when I was eighteen, now I just ask for my privacy and walk away,” Harry replied, glancing out into the crowd of people once more. His absence had gone mostly unnoticed, and he hoped it would stay that way. 

Draco became silent, and it seemed that he only remembered to reply when Harry glanced over. 

“I understand. I couldn’t leave the house when I was eighteen for similar reasons,” Draco said, his voice low and bitter. 

Harry remembered the headlines that stood out right after the war. The Malfoys were just about the only family that was not given immediate Azkaban sentences, and they paid dearly for it from the public and the press. He remembered that there had been a headline once about an act of violence against an ex-Death Eater, he’d been cursed in Diagon Alley…

“They cursed you in London. I remember the headline,” Harry said suddenly, turning to Draco with a frown on his face. He saw Draco wince; perhaps he’d spoken too loudly. 

Draco looked over at Harry, and his eyes— one blue and one grey— looked Harry up and down for a moment before he returned his gaze to his drink. 

“Correct. Incidentally, that was the day I decided I wanted to be a healer,” Draco said, “I decided I’d use my talent for potions for what your lot might call the greater good. 

Harry was struck momentarily speechless. If he’d asked  _ Malfoy ( _ not the Draco that stood in front of him, but his childhood “enemy”) a similar question about his goals and intentions, he’d have been met with a sneer and a mocking reply. 

Draco Malfoy had become a completely different person since they’d last spoken, and Harry couldn't help but smile a bit to himself. 

“You’re a rather decent bloke now, Malfoy,” Harry said, though the words felt ingenuine and awkward in reply to his former rival. He’d never been good at providing encouragement, but Draco didn’t comment on Harry’s perceived social awkwardness. 

“As are you, Potter.” Draco looked at Harry with the slightest smirk, but it wasn’t malicious. 

Harry lifted his glass, though empty, and turned to face Draco. “To happiness,” He said, fully aware of the sentimentality of the situation. Despite how cliche it had all become, Draco lifted his glass and clinked it against Harry’s. 

“To happiness, even though that’s horribly romanticized, Potter. Is this a Muggle film?” Draco drawled, and Harry couldn’t help but laugh, both at Draco’s reference to the Muggle world and his familiar tone of voice. This new Draco had hints of his old self, but they’d all been shown in a new light. 

“Yes, that’s exactly it. Roll credits,” Harry replied, and when he looked over, he saw Draco smiling back. “Fine, I'll revise the toast: to friendship, even though it’s eleven years late,” Harry said, and Draco’s smile grew brighter. 

“To friendship, though that really isn’t much better, Potter.”

“Oh, shut up, Malfoy.”

  
  



End file.
